Crawling away from shore, the cove appears so much smaller than this morning.​On the ride back, I stare at the moon thinking of Dad’s garage. Hand-crushed empties tucked safely behind old paint cans, auto repair manuals, worn-out dress shirts turned into oil rags. He even drinks when he mows the lawn. Mom will be at the kitchen window rinsing a plate or a fork. She’ll be play-acting, squinting into the sudsy dishwater like she sees something only she can see.

BILL COOK resides in a small community within the Sierra Pelona Mountain Range. He has work published in Juked, elimae, Tin Postcard Review, Right Hand Pointing, The Summerset Review, SmokeLong Quarterly, and in Dzanc's anthology Best of the Web 2009 and upcoming in the New Flash Fiction Review & Monarch Review.